Caught in the Crossfire
by RowlingTribute91
Summary: When Alma Coin was seventeen years old, she had everything to gain. And everything to lose. District 13 has already been decimated by bombs and disease. When another unthinkable event rocks her world, she finds herself torn between family and the boy she's incredibly attracted to. Will she soon become the corrupt president that we love to hate?
1. Chapter 1

It always happens around this time of year.

My eyes are glued to a television screen as the countdown begins. Twenty-four people stand on podiums, surrounded by wintery forest and mountains. Awaiting their deaths.

"Here it comes," Electra says beside me.

Xavier sighs loudly. "Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," I reply.

Yes, we watch the Hunger Games here in District 13. How can we not, when it's our fault the Treaty of the Treason was signed? We used to be massive; but now, thirty years after the rebellion, our population is small enough that we can all fit inside our five hundred square-foot commons area. This is where we eat, catch up on the latest Panem news, and listen to my mother speak. My mother, Isolde Coin… I guess you could say she's the President of District 13. Yeah. No big deal.

She stands to address the district before the countdown finishes; her silver hair tied back, her cheeks wrinkled with sternness.

"And why are they forced to endure this?" she asks.

"Because of us," we all say.

"Never forget that, District Thirteen. We're the lucky ones, in my opinion. Be grateful that we survive and thrive, without worrying about our children being sent to die. Out there is pure chaos." With ten seconds left on the countdown, she straightens her military suit. "Watch and see what we've done to them."

"Let the bloodbath commence," I whisper to Electra. My twin sister cringes, squinting. She's much more squeamish than I am.

"Tell me when it's over, Alma."

I snap my fingers in front of her face. "Better not let Mom catch you with your eyes shut or you'll be on sentry duty again…"

"Ugh. You always pull that card because you know I hate going up there," she says.

I can count how many times I've seen the sun on one hand. Every person's done sentry duty at some point; watching for possible invasions, gathering anything salvageable that remains of the bombings; and the occasional refugee.

Xavier, who sits on my other side, is a prime example. Mom thinks he originates from District Thirteen just like us, and that he lived amongst the rubble. Those are the only refuges she's interested in housing.

He's actually a citizen of District Twelve. And so, so, _so_ _extremely _handsome, I've gotta say. When I first saw him, his olive skin tone didn't equal my impression of what District Twelve people look like; still, he says his old neighbors were just as tan. 'The Seam', he called his home. Compared to him, my skin's as white as chalk. He wears his brunette hair down to his chin.

"Fresh air is exactly what you need," he tells Electra.

"It's not that I hate the outdoors," she argues. "It's the danger… We get Capitol hovercars above once in a while; most of the buildings that still stand are loose and could fall on you; oh, and did I forget to mention the radioactive zones? They're everywhere."

"Put it in perspective, Electra. We're not the kids who are about to kill each other," I remind her.

Just as I say this, the Hunger Games takes its first tribute; a girl, dead from a knife in her back.

Xavier sighs. "I knew her."

"I'm sorry," I reply softly. My fingers tap his knee briefly, and he doesn't shirk me off. Instead, our eyes connect. He has a unique condition that colors one iris brown, and the other blue. I'd be lying if I said they didn't enchant me.

"Look at them," he says, nodding back to the screen. Tributes are murdering one another with sick precision. "Animals."

"Well, they don't exactly have a choice," I say.

"I know. But that's not how I'd try to win. I'd fight only if I were attacked."

"Which they all have to do, eventually," Electra points out.

Blood starts dripping down her nose. She wipes it away quickly, but there's no denying what I just saw.

"You're getting sick," I say.

"No, it's nothing."

Yeah right. That was how it began for our older brother, Jason, and our father, Theseus. They both died of a terrible disease, which spread around District Thirteen like wildfire. A downside to living underground. No cure was perfected until Electra and I were thirteen. Unfortunately, Jason and Dad had already passed away. Jason was only sixteen. A year younger than I am right now.

I don't feel lucky to have survived.

Onscreen, the snow-covered arena is now tainted by ten mutilated bodies. I can't tell if all of them are dead yet; but ten cannons tell me otherwise. That bloodbath took just under five minutes.

It's time for tributes to settle down and save their energy, because the next trial could come sooner than they think. Some form alliances; some run off by themselves. I'm kind of interested in the guy from District Six: Titus. He single-handedly killed three tributes, wielding a scythe like Captain Hook uses his prized hook hand.

The TV suddenly goes blank. Mom holds the remote, waiting for our attention.

"Listen, everyone," she says. "While nothing major's happening onscreen, I need to make an announcement.

"For the past thirty years, we've maintained a peaceful existence. We're just coasting by. How, may I ask, can we learn our lesson, when the _rest_ of Panem has to pay the price year after year? It's true, we were bombed; our homes were completely obliterated; thousands of people died. But I'll confess to you upfront: I don't think it will have any impact on our future generations."

"Oh no," I whisper.

Wow, am I nauseous all of a sudden. The muscles in my body are tightening like weights. I hate where this is going…

"We should've been included in the Hunger Games. District Thirteen needs their own yearly reminder; their own tradition. The Council and I have developed a perfect solution, which is going to start when the Hunger Games are over.

"I call it Thirteen's Battle. Every boy and girl, from the ages of twelve to eighteen, must submit their names into a drawing. I'll select two boys and two girls. Each competitor will face off in a battle with their own gender; Boy versus boy and girl versus girl. The victors will be given extra food for their families, and they'll get brand new suites.

"But, like the Hunger Games, Thirteen's Battle isn't just for bragging rights. This is a fight to the death. One boy and one girl will die."


	2. Chapter 2

"What?!" I exclaim.

Pandemonium erupts, and no one keeps their opinions to themselves:

"Were you drunk when you decided this, Coin?"

"You're no better than the idiots in the Capitol!"

"I thought you _cared_ about our kids!"

No kidding. My own mother just turned her back on me and Electra. Betrayal fits her like a glove.

"Let me finish!" Mom demands of the crowd. "There are some rules I need to discuss. Some things that are different from the Hunger Games. The participants in Thirteen's Battle are allowed their weapon of choice, excluding guns. Feel free to start training now. I won't hold that against you. I think it's also fitting that we refer to the selected people as tributes." Her voice is emotionless. I don't know why I'm so surprised at her apathy; it's what leaders must do sometimes.

You have to surrender your own heart in order to protect the hearts of your people.

"However," she continues, "this will be over much more quickly than the Hunger Games. The two tributes will keep going until one of them is dead. Plain and simple. I predict each battle won't even last half an hour. Each battle is scheduled for separate days, resulting in a two-day affair. Girls go first; then the guys. And lastly, we won't accept any volunteers."

"That's bull," I mutter.

"That's life," Xavier replies.

My mother holds firm to her announcement, raising her arms to command the district farther. "I'm gonna put the Games back on and go to my office. If you wanna talk with me, please do so _calmly_. Any attempts at hurting me will result in your execution. Long live District Thirteen."

"And long live the Coins," everyone replies, as is the custom. Drones obeying their master.

Yeah… I might as well say it: Electra and I are next in line to lead. Well, if you wanna get technical, Electra is next. She's older than me by three minutes. We have a government where the presidential position is passed on hereditarily. My grandfather was first, piecing together the remains of District 13 after their rebellion. He'd already been our mayor, so everyone agreed to make him the head honcho. When he died, my mother, his only child, took over. He was very adamant about this. Mom's been prepping us since birth.

People start leaving in droves once she's gone and the Games return. Electra, Xavier and I glance at one another warily.

"We have to submit our names," I say, twirling a piece of my crimson locks. "You know what that means? We could die because of Mom's stupid decision! How desperate do you have to be to register your children for death?"

Electra grabs my face. "Alma! Calm. Down." Our red hair, sea-green eyes and freckles are identical down to the last dot, allowing me the illusion that I'm looking at myself.

"Do _not_ ask me to calm down!"

"Will you shut up and listen to her?" Xavier suddenly exclaims. "She's got the right idea. They're only picking four people. The odds of getting chosen are slim."

"That's what tributes tell themselves, just before they're reaped!"

"If it makes you feel better, I learned some hand-to-hand skills back in District Twelve. I can teach them to you. They're very basic, but useful."

"Thanks," I reply instantly.

"Can you teach me, too?" Electra asks.

"Yeah."

This alleviates my worry. For the moment, anyways.

* * *

I quickly discover that Xavier knows what he's doing. He kicks my butt in every single fight. Somebody taught him well- and illegally, I might add.

Can I blame him, though? He's spent most of his life thinking that he'll one day have to fight for it. If this Thirteen's Battle thing actually becomes an annual tradition, he only has this year to worry about.

Not me. With two years of possible slaughter in my future, I've got to choose a weapon. I think knives are versatile enough for me. You can use them long distance or short distance. And I seem to have a knack for it. I kinda… lost track of how many bulls-eyes I've scored. Xavier has taken up the axe-he used this a lot in District 12- while Electra selects the bow and arrow.

My District 12 friend seems nervous when we meet for today's practice. He's wringing his hands and scratching his head repeatedly.

"Um… What's up with you?" I ask him.

"I'm sick of lying about who I am," he admits. "I've been here for almost a year, but most people don't know my real story. It's gone on long enough. Tonight, I'm gonna tell Pres- I mean, your mother- I'm gonna tell her that I'm not really from District Thirteen."

I suck in a breath. "How do you know she won't shoot you on the spot?"

"I don't."

Okay. I'm gonna pretend he didn't say that- (My mother has to be reasonable! She knows I care about him!)- and get to work on beating him, for once. It's become my main mission in life. So I take up the fighting stance that he taught me: turned at an angle, right knee lunging, my arms crossed over my chest, and my fists clenched.

"If she does that, she'll have to answer to me," I reply.

"Oh man, Alma Coin is one angry woman!" Xavier says happily, adopting the same pose. "It's sexy."

Hold up. Let the records show that he called me sexy. I am mentally fanning myself. Unlike me, he's got a total boxer physique. _I_ should be calling _him _sexy.

"Ready? Aaand… Let's go!" he declares.

I throw the first punch. Xavier drives his fist up to block me, as usual. I swing the other fist right at his jaw while he's distracted.

Yes! I got him!

Then, he slides his foot under my ankle, propelling me down. But I trip him in return. Xavier's weight lays entirely on my body.

So hard to breathe… not that I care.

"This is awkward."

"I don't know," he teases. "I kinda like being here."

So do I. Even if I'd never admit it. He's driving me crazy, with those beautifully mismatched eyes, and the long hair that I wanna run my fingers through. I could just…

_Nah. _Instead, I say, "You're such a boy."

Only Xavier and I would laugh off a moment such as this. And we do.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep. Ha. What is that? I don't get any sleep that night. I'm too busy worrying about Xavier. Breakfast is hazy at best; I nearly dump salt in my oatmeal, instead of the usual sugar.

Electra hands me the sugar, chuckling. "You okay, Alma?"

"Had a rough night," I reply. "Too stressed about… you know…"

I can't mention Thirteen's Battle by name; not when I'm in a room with the woman who announced it into being. Mom's sipping coffee by the door. It's about time for her to leave. But before she does, she clears her throat.

"So… Xavier Jarvis gave me an interesting bit of info last night…"

"Yeah?" I ask, keeping my voice normal.

Electra's curious. She has no clue about Xavier's true upbringing. "What did he say?"

"He said that he never lived in District Thirteen before the bombings. He was born and raised in District Twelve."

"Oh. Really?" Please tell me I don't sound as if I knew this already.

"Somebody tipped him off about our underground society, and after his family died, he said he wanted to find this place so he'd be free."

"I can't blame him," Electra says. "The rest of Panem… it's like a horror story. I would've tried escaping first chance I got. Will you punish him for it?"

"Well… I… Xavier's underage. No guardians. I'm not happy he lied to me, but he's proved himself extremely useful in the butcher house. I think losing his family is punishment enough."

Dang. He just dodged a bullet.

"You're going soft," I joke.

"It's called maternal instinct. He reminds me of… Jason. I know you girls remember what today is."

A tear. A sniffle. All three of us letting bittersweet memories enter our minds.

It would've been Jason's twenty-first birthday today. My brother was a goofball. He knew how to make me laugh when I had a bad day; didn't tease me if I wanted to talk about boys or other girly stuff. A true ladies' man, but not in the way you might think. Jason treated girls right. So did my father. The best guys any sister or daughter could ask for. I'd give anything to see them walk through the door, alive and well.

Today, my mother will announce the tributes of Thirteen's Battle. But that won't happen until after lunch.

The Hunger Games are down to ten tributes now. Titus, the District 6 boy I've been rooting for, is on his own. No allies. He's good at fending for himself. I think I'd probably be that way, too. Can't trust anybody when only one is allowed to live. He comes across a dead tribute; the District 10 girl, if I recall. The boy looks ready to pass out from hunger. Not much vegetation exists in this cold arena; so he hasn't found anything edible in a long time. Sponsors have given him the majority of his food. But he's too impatient to wait for more. With a knife, he… cuts through the body. And takes a piece inside his mouth.

Okay. He just crossed the line.

Everyone around me shares mutual disgust, covering their eyes or keeping their heads down. He goes back for more; and doesn't show signs of stopping anytime soon. But the Gamemakers have other ideas, I discover. The mountain behind Titus crumbles down like a tidal wave, crushing him underneath before he can adopt any course of action.

Another cannon; another tribute down.

* * *

All of us eligible for Thirteen's Battle are rounded up and sent to the front of the commons area. We were told to wear black, as a symbol for the Dark Days.

Mom ascends her platform. Blank-faced. An assistant carries the name bowls.

"Good afternoon, District Thirteen," she says. "I know this must be a difficult day. But I take no pleasure in it, either. It's time we acknowledged our mistakes and atoned for them. I'm going to start with the girls."

She sticks her hand inside the girl's bowl. Electra and I squeeze each other's hands as the first name is drawn.

"Chloe Blevins," she announces.

Chloe looks about sixteen years old. I don't know her very well, but the fear in her eyes is contagious. I know I'm not out of the clear yet. She walks towards my mother, her blonde braid swinging behind her.

Once Chloe's standing by the platform, Mom picks girl number two. She reads the paper silently, and I see her swallow hard. This can't be good. She only does that when she's genuinely upset. No, no no no no-

"The second girl tribute is…Electra Coin."

Why, oh _why _did she forbid volunteers? The Hunger Games allows it! My bottom lip quivers slightly.

But Electra's fierce. She can win. Isn't that horrible of me, to disregard Chloe as a human being? I just… I don't know what else I'm supposed to feel. In the case of murder vs. being murdered, killing is the better choice, I guess. Electra might argue differently.

The first boy selected? Thirteen-year old Raines Kettle. With his spindly figure, I bet he wouldn't last five minutes in the Hunger Games. Maybe he has something clever up his sleeve. I doubt it. Whoever he faces will probably be older, and therefore, stronger.

I'm unprepared when Mom announces the second boy: "Xavier Jarvis."

This is a joke. This is a horrible, sick joke. Xavier keeps calm; shakes hands with Raines just as Mom asks. All four tributes force a smile. I know what they're thinking.

Might as well go out in style.


	4. Chapter 4

One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Ten shots. Electra gets all her arrows on the target within a minute.

"You're so good," I say, grinning. And despite the impending death match, I really do feel optimistic for my sister. I hadn't seen her in action until now.

She offers me a grimace. "Hey, I do the best I can. Didn't know I'd discover a hidden talent along the way."

"When you come back, you should totally go hunting."

"_When_?"

"_Yes_, when. Not _if._"

Thirteen's Battle is about to go down. It will occur in the place Electra fears most: Above ground. They'll be taken up one at a time, so they can conceal themselves. Finding each other is half the fun, apparently. But they can go no further than a thousand yards; as designated by markers that we installed. A fence would draw unwanted attention. When you step on the markers, they glow and vibrate. We'll be watching from below. I'm assigned to escort my sister.

From the wall speakers comes an automated voice: "Electra Coin and escort, please report aboveground."

"It's time." My sister breathes in deeply, closing her eyes.

"You'll be great," I assure her as we ascend to the 'arena'. The words are… more for my benefit than hers. I know she's afraid, but on the outside, she seems calm. Ready. I believe in her.

"There's no such thing as greatness in this," she mumbles.

I'm too afraid of ruining what could be my last moments with her; so I don't tell her how I really feel.

In the case of kill or be killed, I'd most definitely kill. Without question.

Our elevator stops deep inside a sewage tunnel. Above this tunnel, the only thing separating us from land is a cement staircase.

That stench. Ugh, what an awful, rancid smell. Electra and I, being of one mind, plug our noses in unison. There must be centuries of human waste down here. This stuff single-handedly contributed to the plague that took my brother and father. It kept seeping through our ceilings, dropping onto food… We've fixed the problem, but, as I know all too well, it wasn't without sacrifice.

Electra coughs violently for a good minute. She's been hacking up mucus frequently as of late; another plague symptom. Still, we ascend the stairs and break out, onto level land. Radiant beams of sunlight strike me square in the eyes.

"Dang, that's bright!" I exclaim, squinting. "How does everyone else in the world handle so much sun?"

My sister shrugs. "They just… _do_, I guess; and we can, too. It's in every human's biological construction. Let's not forget, we're probably among the only people on Earth who don't live up here."

True enough. Slowly, my eyes adjust; and I exhale deeply. Oh, sweet, fresh air. It's been too long. Now I can fully assess the ghostly, yet beautiful ruins of my district.

You might think the bombs destroyed everything; so there aren't any real hiding places. Wrong. I heard my grandfather refer to this place once-the place it used to be. New York City. A vast concrete jungle; where every so often, you'll find structures sturdy enough for shelter. Grandpa chose this as District 13's new home because of an underground train system they'd created back when the United States of America existed- I think he called it "the subway". _And_ it was the largest subway America had ever built. A smart choice. It provided the perfect frame for construction workers. He told me it was difficult to begin with, knowing that they must avoid Capitol eyes. People made their homes in the subway for a few years, while their new lives took shape.

If I thought _that_ was intricate… Imagine New York City! I daydream about it a lot, actually. Humans aren't supposed to live like moles. We crave adventure.

Which, of course, is why we're here.

Electra and I share a long, suffocating embrace.

"Hey," I say, "I know this probably doesn't mean much, and maybe it sounds dumb, but… May the odds be ever in your favor."

Suddenly, her body language changes. She's not slouching anymore. She has a new spring in her step; with a confident smirk to match. "Are you kidding, Alma? That means everything. Surviving against the odds? It's what we've always done, isn't it? We could've died; Grandpa Dex could've given up on reviving District 13, and we wouldn't ever have been born. But still, we fought. _I _fought. And I won't stop now. I love you."

"I love you, too, sis."

And so, reluctantly, I must leave her.

* * *

The commons area practically buzzes with nerves. I sit by Xavier, who- be still my heart- is letting me hold his hand. Everybody watches as Electra searches for her perfect hideout. Cameras are planted at several points along the rubble; and tributes must give the three-finger salute when they're ready.

She finds herself in what probably used to be a… what's the word? "Bar"? I hear people would come to drink themselves silly there; swap stories; whatnot. There's a tall counter, behind which are toppled, rotting shelves. Electra knocks the shelves away, but the counter holds. Brilliant. She crouches underneath. Then we see her raise three fingers. Sometime later, another camera captures Chloe's salute. Though neither of them know it, the tributes aren't even a block away from each other. Chloe holds a knife, her weapon of choice. Two other throwing knives are holstered in her belt.

_Beep, beep, beep_ go the cameras. The final signal. Thirteen's Battle has commenced.

Chloe takes off, unknowingly, towards Electra. Electra doesn't move from her spot. She connects the arrow to her bow, and waits. Archery is about patience, and the small perimeter ensures that they'll meet soon, anyways.

It takes all of two minutes before my sister hears Chloe enter. She jumps out, releasing an arrow. Chloe dodges Electra's attack and prepares to throw her knife. Focused. Exhaling. Relaxing herself for better accuracy.

"Watch out, Electra," I mumble to the screen. "Duck. Anything."

She finally unleashes her blade on Electra… oh man, I wanna scream. But my fear switches to relief. Girl can't throw correctly. The knife pierces the right wall; nowhere near Electra, thank goodness. She throws again. And a third time. They still don't land where she was aiming for. Chloe runs to retrieve them, huffing with frustration.

With her back turned, she doesn't know that Electra has already shot another arrow. And it flies cleanly through Chloe's neck. I can tell the exact moment of her death, as her body falls into permanent numbness.

Battle over.


End file.
